The Day Our Teacher Went Batty Read online

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  The Day Our Teacher Went Batty

  Gervase Phinn is a teacher, freelance lecturer, author, poet, educational consultant, school inspector, visiting professor of education and, last but by no means least, father of four. Most of his time is spent in schools with teachers and children.

  He is the author of The Other Side of the Dale, Over Hill and Dale, and Head Over Heels in the Dales. His first poetry collection, It Takes One to Know One, is also available in Puffin.

  Also by Gervase Phinn

  IT TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE

  For older readers

  THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DALE

  OVER HILL AND DALE

  HEAD OVER HEELS IN THE DALES

  Gervase Phinn

  The Day Our Teacher Went Batty

  Illustrated by Chris Mould

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2

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  Penguin Books (NZ) Ltd, Cnr Rosedale and Airborne Roads, Albany, Auckland, New Zealand

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  ‘Classroom Creatures’, ‘SchoolTrip’, ‘Book Week’, ‘Class Discussion’, ‘The Little Chatterbox’, ‘Bible Class’, ‘My Teacher’, ‘Christmas Presents for Miss’, ‘Parents’ Evening’, ‘Interrogation in the Nursery’, ‘Poetry Lesson’, ‘Farmgirl’, ‘Asking Questions’, ‘Mr Lee Teaches Poetry’ and ‘Once Upon a Time’ first published in Classroom Creatures, by Roselea Publications, 1996 ‘It Takes One to Know One’, first published in Crack Mother Yolk, edited by John Foster, by Oxford University Press, 1996

  This collection published 2002

  17

  Text copyright © Gervase Phinn, 2002

  Illustrations copyright © Chris Mould, 2002

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-0-14-195682-4

  Contents

  Nativity Play

  Question and Answer

  Exam

  Truth Will Tell

  Infant Nativity

  Dinner Time

  Parents Like You To

  Less Able

  Clear English

  Last in the Queue

  A Proper Poet

  Uncle Eric

  School Visitor

  Sister Says

  The Teacher

  Little Philosopher

  Bonfire Night Blues

  The Lucky Horseshoe

  Epitaph

  Out Fishing

  A Parent’s Prayer

  Rhyme-time

  Pageboy

  The Parent’s Warning

  Signs of the Times

  Dominic

  Accident

  The Inspector Calls

  Will You Come to My Party?

  Conversation with the Infant

  What’s What

  I Would Sooner

  Conversation with the Teacher

  Conversation with the School Inspector

  Bonfire Night

  The Day Our Teacher Went Batty

  Love Poem

  Day Out

  A Father’s Advice to His Son

  Asking Questions–

  With Bells On

  My Dad Remembers

  In the Queue

  Telling Teacher

  Cat and Dog

  Conversation with the Parent

  Star Turn

  A Word of Warning!

  Mother Said

  Brother Said

  As You Were

  Angel in the Cloakroom

  Becky’s Tree

  Up the Stairs

  Dreaming

  Spelling

  The Song of the School Inspector

  Baking

  Lament

  The Sweet-shop Rap

  I’m Not Scared

  Our Cat Cuddles

  Interview with the Headmaster

  Lizzie’s Spider

  When I Grow Up

  When Lizzie Was Born

  Golden Grannies

  Alphabet of Love

  Last Word

  Index of First Lines

  Nativity Play

  Oh, Miss, I don’t want to be Joseph,

  Miss, I really don’t want to be him,

  With a cloak of bright red and a towel on my head

  And a cotton wool beard on my chin.

  Oh Miss, please don’t make me a shepherd,

  I just won’t be able to sleep.

  I’ll go weak at the knees and wool makes me sneeze

  And I really am frightened of sheep.

  Oh Miss, I just can’t be the landlord

  Who says there’s no room in the inn.

  I’ll get in a fright when it comes to the night

  And I know that I’ll let Mary in.

  Oh Miss, you’re not serious – an angel?

  Can’t Peter take that part instead?

  I’ll look such a clown in a white silky gown,

  And a halo stuck up on me head.

  Oh Miss, I am not being a camel!

  Or cow or an ox or an ass!

  I’ll look quite absurd and I won’t say a word,

  And all of the audience will laugh.

  Oh Miss, I’d rather not be a Wise Man,

  Who brings precious gifts from afar.

  But the part right for me, and I hope you’ll agree,

  In this play – can I be the star?

  Question and Answer

  ‘And where did you go on holiday this year, Richard?’

  Asked the teacher.

  ‘We went to Mablethorpe, Miss,’

  The little boy replied.

  ‘And did you go on a donkey?’

  Asked the teacher.

  ‘Oh no, Miss,’

  The little boy replied,

  ‘On a bus!’

  Exam

  An angry sun glared through the high window.

  The hall was stifling and stuffy,

  And we were wet with sweat and breathless,

  Sweltering in our seats, sizzling,

  Wilting in the heat,

  Glued to the paper with sticky hands.

  All was quiet, all was still,

  Save for the teacher’s gentle snoring.

  He has fallen asleep at his desk.

  Truth Will Tell

  A small child was splashing poster paint

  On a great grey piece of paper.

  ‘Do you paint a picture every week?’

  Asked the school inspector.

  The small child shook his little head.

  ‘
Hardly ever as a rule,

  But Miss said we’ve got to paint today –

  There’s an important visitor in school!’

  Infant Nativity

  He looked like a little angel,

  With his round eyes as blue as the sky,

  And an innocent, childlike expression.

  He peered through the curtains at the assembled parents,

  Dressed in his white silk costume trimmed with silver,

  And waited for his entrance.

  He turned to his friend and whispered:

  ‘If Miss thinks I’m being a flipping snowflake next year,

  She’s got another think coming!’

  Dinner Time

  The important visitor smiled widely.

  The infant munched and crunched his biscuit

  And stared with wide, unblinking eyes.

  The important visitor said:

  ‘My little boy demolishes food like a dinosaur too.’

  The infant replied between bites:

  ‘He eats raw meat then, does he?’

  Parents Like You to:

  Watch your manners,

  Be polite,

  Tidy your room,

  Switch off the light,

  Wash the dishes,

  Polish your shoes,

  Brush your teeth,

  Watch your p’s and q’s,

  Kiss your auntie,

  Never swear,

  Eat your greens,

  Comb your hair,

  Do your homework,

  Go to sleep,

  Set the table,

  Wipe your feet,

  Flush the toilet,

  Sweep the path,

  Change your socks,

  Have a bath,

  Sit up smartly,

  Stand up straight,

  Blow your nose,

  Clean your plate,

  Hang your coat up,

  Close the door,

  Say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’,

  Be in by four…

  And generally behave as they think they did

  when they were our age !

  Less Able

  He could not describe the beauty that surrounded him:

  The soft green dale and craggy hills.

  He could not spell the names

  Of those mysterious places which he knew so well.

  But he could snare a rabbit, ride a horse,

  Repair a fence and dig a dike,

  Drive a tractor, plough a field,

  Milk a cow and lamb a ewe,

  Name a bird with a faded feather,

  Smell the seasons and predict the weather,

  That less able child could.

  Clear English

  Mr Smart our English teacher

  Stood at the board one day.

  He turned and said: ‘Put pencils down,

  And kindly look this way.

  Before you leave the school next week

  And in the world a job you seek,

  Remember that at interview

  Be clear in what you say.

  I’ve put some notes upon the board

  But firstly want to say a word.

  Now, you will not achieve success

  If hair and clothes are in a mess.

  And if you wear a grubby shirt

  And your old shoes are caked in dirt,

  The outcome of the interview

  I am sure you all can guess.

  Well, this applies to English too.

  They’ll think you haven’t got a clue

  If over words you stop and stumble,

  Whisper, wince and mouth and mumble,

  Become confused and start to stutter,

  Stare at the floor and merely mutter,

  They certainly won’t pick you.

  So – always choose your words with care

  Speak clearly or you’ll rue it,

  Now everyone look at the blackboard please

  And then I will go through it.’

  Last in the Queue

  When they gave out the instruments at school,

  I was the last in the queue.

  There were trumpets and trombones,

  French horns and flutes,

  Violins and violas,

  Clarinets and cornets,

  Guitars and saxophones,

  Euphoniums and bassoons,

  Tubas and cellos,

  Drums and piccolos and oboes.

  There was only the double bass left for me,

  And the trouble is, I’m four foot three!

  A Proper Poet

  Today we have a real-live poet in school –

  This gentleman who’s standing next to me.

  I must say when I met him in the entrance,

  He was not as I imagined he would be.

  I’d always thought that poets were tall and wan,

  With eyes as dark and deep as any sea,

  So when I saw this jolly little man,

  He didn’t seem a proper poet to me.

  The poets I’ve seen in pictures dress in black

  With velvet britches buttoned at the knee,

  So when I saw the T-shirt and the jeans,

  He didn’t look a proper poet to me.

  I’ve read that famous poets are often ill,

  And die consumptive deaths on a settee.

  Well, I’d never seen a healthier-looking man,

  He just didn’t look a proper poet to me.

  My favourite poems are by Tennyson and Keats.

  This modern stuff is not my cup of tea,

  So when I heard our poet was keen on rap

  He didn’t sound a proper poet to me.

  Well, I’m certain that we’ll all enjoy his poems

  And listen – after all we’ve paid his fee –

  I hope that they’re in verses and they rhyme,

  For that is proper poetry – to me.

  Uncle Eric

  Like some great stooping monster,

  He emerges from the mine.

  His red eyes ringed with coal dust

  And his black hair thick with grime.

  He pauses by the pit head,

  As the others walk on by,

  And wipes the sweat from his face of jet,

  And smiles into the sky.

  School Visitor

  Good morning, Mr Manning,

  Do please take a chair.

  A cup of tea is on its way,

  Are you comfortable there?

  I must say that your letter

  Caught me unprepared.

  The children are so nervous,

  And the staff – quite frankly – scared.

  Now I think you’ll find the pupils here

  Really try their best.

  The reading’s good, the writing’s neat,

  Feel free to give a test.

  I know this is a little school

  But we do strive for perfection.

  I must say that we’ve never had

  A thorough school inspection…

  Oh, you’re not the school inspector,

  And Manning’s not your name.

  You came about the toilets,

  And the caretaker’s blocked drain.

  Sister Says

  When Richard clambered up the tree

  And fell to earth and grazed his knee,

  Sprained his ankle, scraped his shin,

  Cracked his elbow, cut his chin,

  His sister said, as she stood by:

  ‘I didn’t know that boys could fly!’

  One winter’s day, when on his sledge,

  Matthew hit a hawthorn hedge,

  Scratched his face, bruised his hip,

  Thumped his nose and split his lip.

  His sister said: ‘I didn’t know

  That boys liked rolling in the snow!’

  When Dominic, on his roller skates,

  Collided with the garden gates,

  Blacked his eye, banged his head,

  Stubbed
his toe and broke a leg,

  His sister was heard to announce:

  ‘I didn’t know that boys could bounce!’

  The Teacher

  The teacher (it is sad but true)

  Likes telling children what to do.

  At college he is taught to shout,

  And learns to order kids about.

  With nerves of steel and fists of iron

  He strides the classroom like a lion,

  Then freezes with an icy stare,

  And throws his hands up in the air,

  And shakes his head in deep despair.

  The teacher (it is fair to say)

  Likes giving orders every day.

  She can’t speak quietly at all,

  But has to shriek and scream and bawl,

  Bellow, bark and screech and huff,

  Holler, wail and pant and puff,

  Lament, complain and sigh and drone,

  Yell and yelp and roar and moan,

  Grimace, grunt and growl and groan.

  The teacher (yes, I hear you sigh)

  Does not use words like you and I.

  In training for his tough profession

  He learns each teacher-like expression:

  ‘Stop fiddling, boy, and pay attention

  Or you will join me in detention!’

  ‘I really don’t know why I bother,

  In one ear and out the other…’

  ‘I’m waiting, Class…’ ‘My, my, you’re slow,…’

  ‘I’m not here for my health, you know!’

  ‘Now settle down and look this way,’

  And ‘You, girl, put that thing away!’

  ‘Take out your books…’ ‘What did I just say?’

  As soon as teachers enter college

  They cram their minds with all this knowledge.

  Then they emerge completely changed.

  It’s very odd, it’s very strange,

  And that is why (it’s sad but true),

  That teachers aren’t like me and you.

  Little Philosopher

  ‘Your writing’s so untidy,’

  Matthew heard his teacher moan

  ‘I know, Miss,’ said the pupil,

  ‘This pen has a life of its own!’